


sincerity

by skyestiel



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Confessions, First Kiss, Fortune Telling, M/M, Pining Keith (Voltron), attempted humor, hell yeah, i have no explanation for this, keith and lance lead team voltron together, keith returns to the space mall, set sometime after s2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-15
Updated: 2017-05-15
Packaged: 2018-11-01 07:11:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10916895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skyestiel/pseuds/skyestiel
Summary: "If not for the alien symbols etched into the spines of the fortune teller's books, Keith might have thought he was back on Earth.'Why have you come here?'And that’s the real question, isn’t it?"or: Keith revisits the space mall to have his fortune told and gets more than he bargained for.





	sincerity

**Author's Note:**

> i really have no explanation for this fic?? i vaguely remember seeing a post a month or so ago about keith visiting a fortune teller. and that prompt has been bothering me for a while so... here we are
> 
> this fic is set sometime after s2, as it says in the tags. i also hope everyone appreciates the fortune teller's character because i had a blast writing them! anyway, enjoy this little bit of word vomit and fluff!!
> 
> update: [found the post that originally gave me the idea for keith visiting a fortune teller!!!](http://kxlance.tumblr.com/post/157618286817/a-concept-the-gang-goes-back-at-the-space-mall)

Keith is far from a skeptic.

 

From a young age, he’s believed in most things the general public deem ‘unconventional.’ Aliens, ghosts, Mothman—conspiracy theories are Keith’s guilty pleasure. And, after the Garrison lied about Shiro’s disappearance, Keith put an even greater stock in government conspiracies than he used to.

 

Does he believe in magic? Maybe. Okay, _probably_. Werewolves transform under the full moon, and fairies have the power to become invisible, some even heal people. Allura and Coran are always telling stories of abnormally strong Alteans or aliens with witch-like abilities, casting spells and changing form. And, of course, there are the Druids. Magic seems to stretch to every corner of the universe.

 

So it comes as no surprise when Keith glimpses a fortune teller at the infamous Space Mall.

 

Keith spots the shop, only a few booths over from the knife salesman. Purple curtains hang down in front of the entrance. A massive wooden sign is fixed overhead, but the name is scrawled in an indecipherable alien language. The crystal ball situated alongside the text is the only indication of what’s inside.

 

Keith dismisses it. There’s no time and no reason that he can think of to stop .

 

(At least at that time.)

 

Months later, when Shiro has disappeared for the second time—Keith hates having to acknowledge the fact it’s the _second time_ —Keith finds himself in the worst possible position. Shiro brought up the issue for what felt like the thousandth time back when the two had been isolated from the rest of the team, cast away on an alien planet.

 

“Keith, if I don’t make it out of here…” Shiro hesitated, and Keith couldn’t divert his gaze from the bags under his eyes. “I want you to lead Voltron.”

 

The sentiment sent a chill down Keith’s spine. There were many occasions Shiro alluded to Keith taking over his position as leader of the team. But never before had the need felt so real, so _immediate_ — like Shiro could die at any moment.

 

When he vanished without warning, Keith felt obligated to honor his request and appoint himself as the new leader.

 

Well, co-leader if Keith is being totally honest with himself. Recently, Lance had really stepped up to the plate. Whenever Keith needed a second opinion, Lance was there to chime in. During battle, he carefully watched Keith’s back, and, during mission briefings, Lance clung to his side and helped explain parts of the plan Keith didn’t quite understand himself.

 

Considering the previous state of their relationship, it was… weird. But not totally unwelcome.

 

It isn’t a problem. Except for the fact Keith can’t ignore his stupid fucking _crush_ on his right-hand man and former rival.

 

Yeah, it’s pretty awful. Keith can hardly be in the same room as Lance anymore without wondering what kind of beauty products he uses to maintain his appearance. On the rare occasions they’re relaxing, Keith closes his eyes and listens to Lance speak, savoring the sound of his voice and the underlying passion. On the nights neither of them can sleep, they sit near a particular porthole with the best view of the stars, sometimes in comfortable silence and sometimes exchanging stories from Earth.

 

Of course, that’s on the more innocent end of the spectrum. The tiny hormonal Keith residing in the dirty corners of his mind has totally different concerns. Such as what Lance’s lips feel like and the taste of his skin.

 

Keith just _loves_ having feelings for someone. Definitely. His absolute favorite.

 

In other words, Keith’s life is a mess at the moment. As if the whole ‘new black paladin’ thing isn’t bad enough, the ridiculous fluttering in his stomach whenever he’s around Lance only serves to make the situation worse.

 

Lance, totally oblivious to Keith’s emotional turmoil, has been hanging out with Keith more often. And doing horrible things like teasing Keith and surprising him with casual touches and, God, sometimes he even hugs Keith after a particularly grueling battle.

 

It’s suffering. The whole damn thing is _suffering_.

 

“Why don’t you just… I don’t know, tell him how you feel?” Pidge suggests. She leans back in her chair, fixing Keith with a withering stare. “By the way, you came to the wrong person for romantic advice.”

 

“I didn’t know who else to ask,” Keith admits. “Hunk and Lance tell each other everything so there’s no way I could talk to Hunk. Allura and Coran would probably tell me to be upfront with Lance. And Shiro might tell Lance _for_ me.”

 

“He would do that?”

 

“Well, in his own, ‘I’m Shiro and this is supposed to be me subtly hinting at Keith’s crush on you’ kind of way.”

 

“Oh wow…”

 

“Yeah,” Keith sighs. “You and I talk about other stuff so I thought… why not?”

 

Pidge groans and turns her attention to the computer monitor. Lines of green code fill the screen, reflected in her glasses. “Fair enough, I guess. I’m not sure what to tell you, though.”

 

“Do you think there’s any chance he actually…?”

 

“Feels the same?”

 

“Yeah, uh.” Keith clears his throat. “That.”

 

“I’ve never asked Lance. The only way to know for sure is if you ask him yourself,” Pidge replies. “But, I mean, if you wanna know the truth… I think he—“

 

“You know, um. Actually.” Keith jerks to his feet. A flash of lavender gauzy cloth pushes to the forefront of his mind. “I think I have this under control. But thanks for listening and good luck with your… programming.”

 

Before Pidge can try and bar him from leaving, Keith darts out of the room. He somehow navigates the tangled web of wires littering the floor without tripping. The door slides shut behind him, and Keith swears he can hear Pidge yelling after him.

 

A tiny part of Keith is sorry for leaving Pidge in the dark. But a greater part knows he has to do this alone.

 

 

* * *

 

 

There’s something intimate about the soft light and tight quarters of the fortune teller’s booth. Slender ivory candles line the walls, arranged on shelves between thick, ornately bound books. A small table sits at the center of the room with a rich crimson cloth draped over it. The crystal ball sits on top, brilliant indigo surface glimmering under the candlelight, encircled by a gold design embroidered into the cloth.

 

If not for the alien symbols etched into the spines of the fortune teller’s books, Keith might have thought he was back on Earth.

 

“Why have you come here?”

 

And that’s the real question, isn’t it?

 

Keith shifts awkwardly in his seat. It’s hard to speak to someone when he can’t even see their face. The voice on the other side of the maroon veil is raspy, thick with curiosity. Their hands rest on the table, knobby fingers adorned with rings, nails sharpened to dangerous points eerily similar to claws.

 

“My… future?” Keith settles on. Because, _Shouldn’t you know why I’m here_? would make him sound like a gigantic douchebag.

 

“Of course. But there is more to your visit than a simple reading.” They pause, and Keith can practically hear them smirk. “Is that not right, paladin of Voltron?”

 

His breath catches in his throat. How did they recognize him? Regardless of how ridiculous Keith finds the space pirate costume, he assumed the scarf, mask, and hood would serve their rightful purpose. The last thing he needs is to cause trouble for the team because he couldn’t put together a decent disguise.

 

 _They probably use magic, dumbass, of course they know who you really are._ Keith forces himself not to visibly panic, hoping he can still maintain his cover.

 

“I’m sorry, Voltron?”

 

“You act me a fool,” the fortune teller scoffs. “The aura of a paladin, especially Red, is far different from other customers. Scarlet clouds surround you like a blanket, young one. It is a shame you cannot see them for yourself. They are breathtaking.”

 

Keith is completely and totally screwed. So much for masking his identity.

 

”Please, you can’t—“

 

“I do not plan to spread word of your visit, if that is what you fear. Such an announcement would only serve to bring the Galra here.” Another scoff, far more disgusted. “I would rather not deal with those scum.”

 

Keith bristles. “They’re not all scum.”

 

“Easy, young one.” The fortune teller swishes their hand as if shooing a pesky fly. “I know of your heritage. However, there are few exceptions such as yourself.”

 

“The Blade of Marmora?”

 

“More exceptions. And not many.”

 

“But they’re expanding—“

 

“As much as I would love to debate with you, Red Paladin, you are not here to speak of political or ethical matters. You and I both know this.”

 

A deeper wisdom than Keith could ever imagine seems to seep out of the fortune teller’s pores. It shrouds Keith, heavy and overbearing. “Yeah… yeah, you’re right.”

 

Thin fingers settle on the crystal ball. “The Black Paladin? You wonder if you will ever see him again.”

 

Keith stiffens; he hadn’t said a damn thing. Not out loud, at least.

 

“I just need to know whether he’s alive,” Keith stresses. “I can’t… the thought of something happening to him…”

 

“I cannot say much, but I will tell you this: he is alive.”

 

A swell of joy engulfs Keith, and he just barely quells the urge to celebrate, feigning indifference. Shiro is actually alive. That one single bit of information changes _everything_. Now when Keith pushes the team to keep looking, he knows their search isn’t fruitless. He feels like a dog chasing a car it knows it’ll catch. Maybe not now but… but soon. As long as it keeps trying.

 

“On the matter of whether and when you find him, I am not permitted to share. We who hear the universe’s voice have a certain pride to uphold.”

 

“Is this how all of your readings go?” Keith blurts. _Dammit._ “Wow, sorry. That was rude.”

 

“It is quite alright. As I said before, you are young. _Considerably_ young.” They drum their fingers on the twinkling crystal orb’s surface and sigh. “Humans do not live long and, even with the Galra blood running through your veins, you will never outlive a creature like me, centuries old… withering away...”

 

_Centuries?!_

“And yet…” they trail off. Keith watches in silent horror as the fortune teller’s fingers flutter and then freeze, knuckles white with strain. A low growl rumbles up their throat. The noise is grating and inhuman and, oh God, this is where he dies. Sitting in the booth of an ancient fortune teller in the middle of a _space fucking mall_.

 

Then, suddenly, they go quiet. Keith opens his mouth to speak, to maybe try and redeem himself, when—

 

Laughter.

 

Like tires rolling over gravel, the sound echoes throughout the tiny room. A thunderous laugh, booming, unbridled and genuine. Startled by the outburst, Keith flattens against his chair. His first instinct is to grab for his bayard. Without his usual suit, Keith settled for stowing it in a makeshift holster attached to his hip.

 

Keith is seconds away from actually pulling his weapon on the mysterious alien when they raise a hand, signaling him to stop. Slowly, he lowers his bayard.

 

“I was… under the impression that—oh my. This is… unexpected,” the fortune teller manages between bouts of laughter. They keep their hand out until their childish snickers eventually die down. “He was not your sole reason for coming here.”

 

Shame and humiliation boil up inside Keith, coloring his cheeks. The fortune teller was only supposed to pick up on his fear over Shiro not—fuck, of course, they picked up on that, too.

 

“I… well—“

 

“The paladins of Voltron certainly are fascinating,” they carry on. “Admittedly, your subconscious managed to keep that hidden from me. I am impressed, considering the strength of such an emotion. So powerful. Very suited to the temperamental Red Paladin.”

 

Keith swallows nervously and, yep, his cheeks are on fire. Great.

 

“I don’t know what you’re, um. Talking about?”

 

“You do not have to play coy with me,” they insist. “The feeling itself is there. I am not sure how I missed it earlier. A dazzling blue, much like the briny waves of the Reustean oceans. How beautiful…”

 

 _Blue_.

 

“You have felt this way for a while, have you not?”

 

“Felt what way?”

 

The fortune teller shakes their head, clicking their tongue. Keith pictures it as the forked tongue of a lizard. “These… emotions you feel toward the Blue Paladin. They are far too intense to have been born overnight.”

 

“Intense?” Keith’s voice cracks. “Uh, I don’t really know if _intense_ is the word I would use…”

 

“And you wish to know if these feelings are mutual.”

 

“I mean, that’d be a stupid reason to come all this way to see a fortune teller. Right?”

 

“Because you are too frightened by the prospect of rejection to ask the paladin yourself.”

 

“Okay, I never said—“

 

“His demeanor intimidates you.” They slap their hands over their mouth. Well, over the veil where their mouth likely is. “What an unforeseen turn of events! The hot-headed red, daunted by the outgoing blue.”

 

“I’m—that’s not true!”

 

“You are afraid he will reject you. And yet—how _amusing_.” The fortune teller is basically giggling at this point. It reminds Keith of a teenage girl, gushing over the juiciest piece of gossips she’s discovered in years. “I am so glad that you have come.”

 

 _What, so you can laugh at my shitty unrequited crush_? Keith crosses his arms over his chest. ”Then I guess you have an answer for me.”

 

“You are always watching him,” they mumble, as if they didn’t hear Keith. After a momentary pause, they bounce a little in their chair. “And he… ah yes. Although neither of you are aware—the universe is so very cruel at times. I had no idea.”

 

Keith finds himself caught on a single word.

 

“Why… cruel?”

 

In the blink of an eye, the fortune teller deflates. They sag against the back of their chair. “In regards to _this_ matter, I am not able to impart much knowledge onto you, young paladin,” they explain sadly, “although I would very much enjoy resolving this issue once and for all.”

 

The reading has taken a turn for the ominous, and Keith doesn’t like it one bit. “What are you talking about?”

 

“Much like with the rest of my prediction, I must remain… vague is not exactly fitting, but it will do. I shall offer you this: pay close attention to his sincerity.”

 

“His sincerity,” Keith repeats.

 

“The thoughts he voices.”

 

“Listen, I know you’ve never met La—the Blue Paladin, but he voices _a lot_ of his thoughts. How the hell do I know which ones to pay attention to?” Keith blanches, realizing his word choice. “I’m sorry, excuse the, uh. Language.”

 

To his astonishment, they seem unfazed. “You will know, young one.”

 

“I—“

 

“Now, I know you have plenty of concerns as the temporary leader of the paladins of Voltron, but I must ask that you leave now.”

 

“Temporary?“

 

“And you may be very young, but the truth will reveal itself to you soon enough.”

 

Before he knows what’s happening, Keith is being hoisted out of his chair and guided purposefully toward the exit. He tries to set his feet, but the fortune teller easily overcomes his strength. There’s more muscle hidden underneath their cloak than Keith surmised. He almost trips when he’s given the final shove out the door, catching himself just in time.

 

 _Did they really just…?_ Keith swivels on his heel, ready to give the fortune teller a piece of his mind. But all insults escape him.

 

The unnervingly cryptic alien has pulled back their veil. Their skin is tinted pink, clear and free of any blemishes or scars. Slits like those of a snake are situated between two round eyes. The irises are a mix of lively greens and reds, encircling inky black irises the size of pinpricks. They have fine facial features, pixie-like.

 

Keith can’t help but note how beautiful they are.

 

And the jealous side of Keith—a monster, really—heaves a sigh of relief because Lance isn’t there.

 

“I have faith in you,” they whisper, gravelly voice dripping with honesty.

 

Keith doesn’t trust himself to speak and, instead, offers a nod. As he turns to leave, his mind wanders. What would it be like, seeing the future? Keith thinks, especially after this bizarre encounter, that he would hate it.

 

The fortune teller is almost out of earshot when he hears one last thing.

 

“Good luck, Keith Kogane of Voltron.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

When Keith returns, the castle is blissfully quiet.

 

It had been the middle of the night, by the castle’s clocks, when he left. The longer he sat with the fortune teller, though, the more he was convinced he’d come back to a confused and angry group of paladins. But, as he climbs down from Red, he notes the emptiness of the hangar.

 

Keith crouches low to the ground. With every step he takes, he inwardly cringes at the loud thud of his armored feet hitting the floor. Keith hadn’t seen anyone but that doesn’t exactly mean he’s alone. Pidge would totally hide behind her lion and wait for the perfect moment to jump out and interrogate Keith.

 

_“Where the hell did you go?”_

_”Just to visit a fortune teller from the space mall. The one where we rode around on a giant cow? Yeah, that mall._ ”

 

“Because that would go over so—“

 

“Keith?”

 

“What the f—“ Keith nearly collides with the last person he expected to see here. “ _Lance?”_

“There you are,” Lance cries. One hand goes to his hip, while the other angrily flourishes and gestures at Keith. “What do you think you’re doing?”

 

Dread swells up inside Keith. “Going… back to my room?”

 

“Okay, and what were you doing _before_ that?” Lance demands. His pajamas swish with every frustrated movement, lion slippers planted firmly.

 

“Flying around in Red.”

 

“In the middle of the night?”

 

“I don’t have to explain myself to you, Lance.” Keith winces; it physically pains him. “I’m going to bed now.”

 

Keith fully intends to stride past Lance and back to his room, but the iron grip on his wrist stops him dead in his tracks. Caught off guard, Keith doesn’t even attempt to resist. Flames dance behind narrowed blue eyes, fixed on Keith and totally immobilizing him. _Oh fuck_.

 

“I think you do,” Lance disputes, voice low and dangerous.

 

Keith hates how attractive he finds that.

 

“I think as the new leader of Voltron and as my”—Lance stutters over the next word—“friend, you have a right to tell me what’s going on. I help you out all the time. Don’t I?”

 

“Yes…”

 

“So you can’t just… shut me out like this! I may not be the _leader-_ leader, but I’m like, I don’t know, the co-leader? And if something had happened to you, I—“

 

Keith waits, ready for a full tirade. He recognizes the flailing arms and running mouth. But Lance’s voice, thick with desperation, is new. The fiery glint in his eyes, the flaring nostrils, and the way he keeps encroaching on Keith’s personal space—all of it is new. Quite frankly, it scares Keith.

 

“Take me with you.”

 

Keith feels like he’s been punched in the gut. “What?”

 

“Next time, take me with you,” Lance insists. Their faces are only a few inches apart now and, wow, how had Keith _missed_ that? “I always watch your back in battle so… why should this be any different?”

 

Keith is almost definitely blushing. He feels like he’s burning from the inside out. “Lance… it’s okay. You really don’t have to worry about me.”

 

“But I do!”

 

“Because of the rivalry, right?”

 

“Wh—you’re kidding.”

 

“You’re the one who kept bringing it up!”

 

“I haven’t in a long time! Not since Shiro left.”

 

“It makes sense, though. Since—“

 

“Oh my God, it’s because I _care_ about you, dumbass!”

 

Silence.

 

If one of the mice were to drop a pin, Keith is sure he’d be able to hear it. There’s no way in hell he heard Lance right. For months, Lance went on and on about their “rivalry” and about how “anything Keith could do, he could do better.” Lance seized every opportunity to profess his undying hatred for Keith. And, sure, it’s been awhile since he pranced around spouting insults.

 

But _this_?

 

 _Keep calm, nothing to lose your shit over,_ Keith silently chastises himself. Then, he remembers what the fortune teller said. About paying attention to Lance’s “sincerity.”

 

“Oh God,” Keith blurts and lurches in Lance’s grasp. “No. That would be… no.”

 

Anger quickly gives way to worry, and Lance’s features soften. “You alright, buddy?”

 

“Was that—would you say you were being sincere? Just now?”

 

“Um.” Lance blinks. “Yeah? I thought that was obvious?”

 

“Oh. Cool, cool.” Keith’s entire world is falling apart, but, you know, no big deal. Meanwhile, Lance regards him like he's a madman, ten seconds away from snapping and going on a killing spree. “Cool.”

 

“You said ‘cool’ three times,” Lance points out. Cautiously, he takes a step closer. If not for their shoes, their toes would be touching. “I’m starting to think you’ve been brainwashed or something.”

 

Keith lets out an ugly snort of a laugh. His mouth opens and closes uselessly. It’s like he’s forgotten how to fucking _speak_ , and, with that, he officially wants to die.

 

“Why did you ask me that, dude? Not gonna lie, I’m legitimately freaking out over here,” Lance prompts, voice laced with concern.

 

“You’re sure you were being sincere?”

 

“Yeah, what the hell? I lowkey poured my heart out to you! Of course I was being”—he bends his fingers into air quotations—”’sincere.’”

 

“Right, coo—“

 

“If you say cool _one more time, Keith Kogane_ ,” Lance warns. Another horrifying laugh falls from Keith’s mouth, and apparently that’s it for Lance. He slaps his hands to Keith’s cheeks, resounding smack bouncing off the hangar walls. “What. Happened?”

 

“You care about me,” Keith deadpans.

 

“That’s been established, yes.”

 

“And you’re not lying.”

 

“God, you’re making this way more embarrassing than it has to be… No, I’m not lying.”

 

“Then please don’t kill me for this,” Keith breathes and, before he can lose his courage, pushes up on his toes and kisses Lance.

 

Well, _tries_ to kiss Lance. Their teeth clack, noses bump, and their actual lips only touch for a second or two before Lance squeals and pulls away. He holds Keith at arm’s distance and gives him a quick onceover. The entire time, Keith stares at a random spot on the wall behind Lance’s head and struggles to remember his own name.

 

“You’ve been brainwashed!” Lance declares. “I can’t believe our fearless leader leaves for one night and comes back without any memory of his amazing teammates.“

 

Spontaneity is truly Keith’s forte. He secures his arms around Lance’s neck and tugs him down into a second, proper kiss. Lance gasps but thankfully doesn’t tug away. For a moment, he doesn’t budge, and Keith considers pulling away himself, maybe sinking into the floor for safe measure. But eventually, something must click inside Lance’s head and shaky hands settle on Keith’s waist.

 

 _Warm_ , Keith notes when those hands urge him closer, steady but gentle. _Warm_ , when they adjust the angle of their approach to more comfortably slot their lips together. _Warm_ , when Lance smiles into the kiss and _warm_ when Lance trails one hand up Keith’s spine, curling fingers around strands of thick, dark hair.

 

They separate for an instant, and Lance has the nerve to _laugh_ as their lips meet again. Keith mumbles questioningly but refuses to stop, not when he’s made it this far. His heart feels like it’s going to burst out of his chest; it’s one of the strangest sensations he’s ever experienced. A heady combination of the rush of adrenaline during a fight, the fear of losing to Zarkon, and the satisfaction of finding something lost.

 

Since an accidental smashing of lips during a training session at the Garrison doesn’t exactly count as a kiss, Keith is out of his element here. Breathing is becoming much too difficult. Thankfully, Lance seems to reach his limit at the same time Keith does and draws back.

 

Keith craves the warmth of Lance’s touch and can’t bring himself to put space between them. Slowly, Lance leans and rests his forehead against Keith’s. Their breath mingles, swollen lips close enough to come together again if either of them were to move even the slightest bit.

 

“Dude,” Lance gasps, disbelieving.

 

“We just… and all you can say is ‘dude’?”

 

“Better than saying ‘cool’ a million times,” Lance teases. “Oh, and being all cryptic and shit. I still wanna know where you ran off to.”

 

“A fortune teller.” There’s no point in keeping it a secret anymore. “At the mall.”

 

“Aw, you went back to the space mall without me?”

 

“I wasn’t there to shop…”

 

“We would’ve had fun, though.” Lance pouts and then freezes, as if he only just comprehended Keith’s explanation. “Wait, wait, wait. Why did you visit a fortune teller?”

 

 _Dammit_. “Uh…”

 

And Lance—incredible but occasionally infuriating Lance—interjects. “Oh, I get it. You asked about Shiro, didn’t you?”

 

Keith hesitates. He could tell Lance the whole truth. For a second, he considers telling Lance every detail about his visit but something advises him not to. A voice in the back of his head discourages him from describing the reading to Lance, at least not yet. Maybe it’s the universe or magical juju or any semblance of logic he has left after the kiss. Either way, Keith listens.

 

“Yeah,” Keith whispers, eyes fluttering shut. “Yeah, that’s it.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> all kudos and comments are appreciated!! they FUEL me. also please come cry with me on tumblr or twitter @tobiologist. i really love talking to readers!!


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